Stinging Wyrm

Veer'Shule looked down his long nose at the impetuous dark elf before him.
We was a worm about to be tossed aside in a maelstrom of power! This fool
challenges the great archmage--no: grandarchmage for control of the Heart.
He would not have it! The Heart was his and so was the Blood, so long
ensnared on that petty ring the dark elf was now brandishing. What was the
Blood to the Heart? What was the warmage to the Master?

"Negotiations" had fallen apart. Now they were locked in mortal combat in
true mage's fashion. Two wills pitted against each other, using whatever Arts
were at each's disposal. This warmage spurned the Words! Fool! He shall taste
the full cup of woe for that stupidity. His Art was no match for the ancient
Words, a power that has been at odds with magicka since the beginning.
Veer'Shule firmly believed the Words were far more powerful.

The two men now strove with all their might and will, closing out all the
world about them. The Heart gave the Master its insurmountable Will. He felt
the euphoria of its power rushing through his veins, reaching every fiber of
his being. Such power, such concentrate might! No one being can contain it
all, and yet he did. He lashed out with it, bringing fatal power to his
Words such as none had ever dared to do since the creation of the Horned
Council so long ago. His opponent sagged, but did not give way.

The dusky warmage retaliated! He weaved his Art with expert ease as if born
to it. Complex energies swirled around him and came forth in terrifying
force. The magicka rocked the pale man. The Heart's power was waning. No, not
waning! It was being drawn off. The crimson light of the Blood flared in time
with the Heart. This mage was also tapping the Heart, using the Blood as a
channel.

Fury welled up in Veer'Shule. He almost lost himself in the great tidal
forces that was now the Heart. He mastered himself and his anger crystallized,
became cold. This worm had become a scorpion. Merely lashing out would not
crush it. He now carefully chose his Words, crafted them and imbued them with
terrible purpose targeted at this unique individual. The warmage kept up his
relentless assault. Fire and lightning saturated the air. The Master's staff
grew hot. The warmage would remove his crutch! His focus would be lost.

With desperate thought, the Master pulled at the Heart, steering its Will
back to himself. His staff grew too hot to hold, yet let his hand be damned.
As long as he held the staff, he would persevere. As long as he had the
staff, he had the Heart. And yet, deep in his mind, he had doubt. This dark
elf had stamina as well as will. The Blood was attuned to him, and the stones
were in harmony with each other. Veer'Shule felt a pang of betrayal.

*How could you do this?* he silently addressed the Heart. "I am your master.
When this fool is dead, you will be whole again.*

The Heart did not answer, but was intent only on awakening. The Blood was too
close to bicker about who ruled who. LIFE! The Blood was life and the Heart
would have it. The Denigroth, long-time statues in the darkest recesses of
the hall, were animated once more, the latent energies giving them life. The
Heart needed more. This dark one proved stronger than the Master. It would
receive the Blood from him.

The admantium staff was now bending and Veer'Shule could not hold himself to
grip it any longer. He knew the hand was gone, now bitter bone and brittle
flesh. With vengeful wrath, he attempted the same against his foe. The runes
on Balefire's staff grew hot with an ire of their own. The staff was a living
thing, and this pale, ancient man had directly attacked it. It brought up it
own defenses and weathered the Word of Burning. But now, the Master could not
spare it more thought.

The loss of his own staff had weakened him, and his hold over the Heart was
slipping. Fear gripped him. The cool concentration that shaped the Words was
thrown aside and his lips spat out the sounds in chaotic frenzy. His mouth
stung at the unfettered power. His lips grew sticky with blood, but his enemy
was also weakening. Veer'Shule's desperate strength was enough to again
divide the Heart. stretching its Will three ways, for now it was strong
enough to achieve conciousness. It cared not for the warring mages, and only
strove to force the Blood into contact with the great ruby.

Balefire, under attack from both the Master and the Heart, sagged to his
knees. His Art and will were not enough, and his great stamina was waning
fast. He now discarded discrete spells, and raged against the Master with a
deluge was untempered magicka.

Veer'Shule, without his focus and with the Heart against him, found his own
will faltering. This was not how it was supposed to be! This worm-come-
scorpion had metamorphosed into a dragon. He had enough life left in him to
utter one last Word, a most terrible Power. He fought with himself. He would
need it to subdue the First when it fully awoke, but if he did not use it now
to silence this mortal dragon ripping at his throat, he would surely perish,
if not from this deathly embrace, then from the others beyond the bright
circle of magicka in which warmage and Master lay...or the Denigroth might
slay him.

Through bleary eyes, weak and dim, he perceived his archfoe. They were now
within arm's reach of one another. The enemy's face was drawn and aged, his
dark skin tight against the bone. His mouth was set in a pained grimace, but
fierce. Their eyes locked, red and gold. In those eyes, Veer'Shule saw his
decision made for him. There was no defeat there. He would have to use the
final Word.

<><><><><><><><><>
Alduin dor Lammoth